THE BIG CHIEF
When on the return journey they arrived upon the plateau skirting the Piegan Reserve the sun's rays were falling in shafts of slanting light upon the rounded hilltops before them and touching with purple the great peaks behind them.The valleys were full of shadows, deep and blue.The broad plains that opened here and there between the rounded hills were still bathed in the mellow light of the westering sun.
"We will keep out a bit from the Reserve," said Cameron, taking a trail that led off to the left."These Piegans are none too friendly.I've had to deal with them a few times about my straying steers in a way which they are inclined to resent.This half-breed business is making them all restless and a good deal too impertinent.""There's not any real danger, is there?" inquired his wife."The Police can handle them quite well, can't they?""If you were a silly hysterical girl, Mandy, I would say 'no danger' of course.But the signs are ominous.I don't fear anything immediately, but any moment a change may come and then we shall need to act quickly.""What then?"
"We shall ride to the Fort, I can tell you, without waiting to take our stuff with us.I take no chances now.""Now? Meaning?"
"Meaning my wife, that's all.I never thought to fear an Indian, but, by Jove! since I've got you, Mandy, they make me nervous.""But these Piegans are such--"
"The Piegans are Indians, plain Indians, deprived of the privilege of war by our North West Mounted Police regulations and of the excitement of the chase by our ever approaching civilization, and the younger bloods would undoubtedly welcome a 'bit of a divarshun,'
as your friend Mike would say.At present the Indians are simply watching and waiting.""What for?"
"News.To see which way the cat jumps.Then-- Steady, Ginger!
What the deuce! Whoa, I say! Hold hard, Mandy.""What's the matter with them?"
"There's something in the bushes yonder.Coyote, probably.
Listen!"
There came from a thick clump of poplars a low, moaning cry.
"What's that?" cried Mandy."It sounds like a man.""Stay where you are.I'll ride in."
In a few moments she heard his voice calling.
"Come along! Hurry up!"
A young Indian lad of about seventeen, ghastly under his copper skin and faint from loss of blood, lay with his ankle held in a powerful wolf-trap, a bloody knife at his side.With a cry Mandy was off her horse and beside him, the instincts of the trained nurse rousing her to action.
"Good Heavens! What a mess!" cried Cameron, looking helplessly upon the bloody and mangled leg.
"Get a pail of water and get a fire going, Allan," she cried.
"Quick!"
"Well, first this trap ought to be taken off, I should say.""Quite right," she cried."Hurry!"
Taking his ax from their camp outfit, he cut down a sapling, and, using it as a lever, soon released the foot.
"How did all this mangling come?" said Mandy, gazing at the limb, the flesh and skin of which were hanging in shreds about the ankle.
"Cutting it off, weren't you?" said Allan.
The Indian nodded.
Mandy lifted the foot up.
"Broken, I should say."
The Indian uttered not a sound.
"Run," she continued."Bring a pail of water and get a fire going."Allan was soon back with the pail of water.
"Me--water," moaned the Indian, pointing to the pail.Allan held it to his lips and he drank long and deep.In a short time the fire was blazing and the tea pail slung over it.
"If I only had my kit here!" said Mandy."This torn flesh and skin ought to be all cut away.""Oh, I say, Mandy, you can't do that.We'll get the Police doctor!" said Allan in a tone of horrified disgust.
But Mandy was feeling the edge of the Indian's knife.
"Sharp enough," she said to herself."These ragged edges are just reeking with poison.Can you stand it if I cut these bits off?"she said to the Indian.
"Huh!" he replied with a grunt of contempt."No hurt.""Mandy, you can't do this! It makes me sick to see you," said her husband.
The Indian glanced with scorn at him, caught the knife out of Mandy's hand, took up a flap of lacerated flesh and cut it clean away.
"Huh! No-t'ing."
Mandy took the knife from him, and, after boiling it for a few minutes, proceeded to cut away the ragged, mangled flesh and skin.
The Indian never winced.He lay with eyes closed, and so pallid was his face and so perfectly motionless his limbs that he might have been dead.With deft hands she cleansed the wounds.
"Now, Allan, you must help me.We must have splints for this ankle.""How would birch-bark do?" he suggested.
"No, it's too flimsy."
"The heavy inner rind is fairly stiff." He ran to a tree and hacked off a piece.
"Yes, that will do splendidly.Get some about so long."Half an hour's work, and the wounded limb lay cleansed, bandaged, packed in soft moss and bound in splints.
"That's great, Mandy!" exclaimed her husband."Even to my untutored eyes that looks like an artistic bit of work.You're a wonder.""Huh!" grunted the Indian."Good!" His piercing black eyes were lifted suddenly to her face with such a look of gratitude as is seen in the eyes of dumb brutes or of men deprived of speech.
"Good!" echoed Allan."You're just right, my boy.I couldn't have done it, I assure you."1
pointing to the man."Good," pointing to the woman."Me--no--forget." He lifted himself upon his elbow, and, pointing to the sun like a red eye glaring in upon them through a vista of woods and hills," said, "Look--He see--me no forget."There was something truly Hebraic in the exultant solemnity of his tone and gesture.
"By Jove! He won't either, I truly believe," said Allan."You've made a friend for life, Mandy.Now, what's next? We can't carry this chap.It's three miles to their camp.We can't leave him here.There are wolves all around and the brutes always attack anything wounded."The Indian solved the problem.
"Huh!" he grunted contemptuously.He took up his long hunting-knife."Wolf--this!" He drove the knife to the hilt into the ground.
"You go--my fadder come.T'ree Indian," holding up three fingers.
"All right! Good!" He sank back upon the ground exhausted.
